My son Manuel

Rodger and my sex life was non-existent, as it had been for years. I masturbated of course, and I imagine that he did too, but even that had become more and more infrequent over the years. All of a sudden I was having more orgasms than I had had since I was a newlywed. I felt schizophrenic. On the one hand, I was excited and titillated by the game that Manuel and I were playing; on the other hand, I was lusting after my own son, and I was wracked with guilt. But not enough guilt to make me stop. For the first time in my life, I felt like a pervert.

The game had rules: I got to watch him shower and sometimes masturbate. We never spoke about it; it seemed that to break the silence would ruin the game. And I loved our game. One night, he stood in our bedroom doorway as my husband slept, and masturbated for me there, silhouetted in the hall light. He obviously enjoyed playing too, though I didn’t really understand what he got out of it. Could Manuel really be attracted to me? Unlike my husband, who has been steadily putting on weight since he turned thirty, I take good care of my body. I watch what I eat, and jog three or four times a week. But I was over twice his age, not to mention being his own mother.